


It's Like Catching Lightning

by ienablu



Category: High School Musical (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (not at the same time), Crossover Pairings, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6715846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the span of twelve hours, Troy goes from being a normal guy, to being a hostage, to a passenger on a road-trip with SHIELD Agent May to return coded letters to SHIELD Agent Montez.</p><p>(Troy doesn't know what part he's most confused about.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Like Catching Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who may have clicked on this just to see if the author explained the pairing, the abridged version goes like this: hi, I'm Ien, last spring semester was super difficult for me, I was very depressed, I somehow came up with this pairing idea and it never failed to make me smile. Working on it got me through heartbreak earlier this year. And now, some grievous family turmoil.
> 
> [As such, while I otherwise am open to critique on my writing, I ask that at this time any critiques be deferred until a later time, when RL things are not as heavy.]
> 
> Anyways, High School Musical and Marvel are both owned by Disney, so it's not _that_ much of a stretch. Right? Right.
> 
> (...and for anyone else who is persnickety about timelines, this places the Wildcats graduating in Spring 2006 (as it would have been projected in HSM, as opposed to HSM3 placing it in 2008).) This is about sixteen months before AoS starts. And for hair reference: [Troy](http://i2.wp.com/therighthairstyles.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/6-men%E2%80%99s-textured-shag-haircut.jpg?w=500), [May](http://www.heightcelebs.com/celebphotos/mingnawen.jpg), [Gabi](http://www4.pictures.stylebistro.com/bg/2011+Hurley+Walk+Walk+National+Championship+o5hb5pMh4k3l.jpg).)

It’s not the best day of Troy’s life. 

The only thing going well for him is that he’s finally stopped counting the days since him and Gabi broke up. For good. For actual… It’s been a rough few months. Especially with his auditions going as poorly as they have been. A director he’s worked with before has dropped a few hints about auditions coming up in late May, and will likely look past Troy’s half-hearted duets, but that’s still a month away. Until then, it’s his part-time job as a barista and a part-time job at a used bookstore, with a few dog-walking gigs in between.

And sulking while checking FaceBook, but Chad’s caught onto this hobby and has been threatening an intervention. Which would be difficult when Chad’s in New York, and Troy’s still in Berkeley, but he appreciates the thought. Also, the fact that Chad’s been talking about flying out to Albuquerque. Troy needs to text him back. He misses his best bro.

He gets through the door, and slings his messenger bag down onto the floor by the couch.

The apartment is chillier than it should be.

He looks around.

His window is open.

He didn’t leave the window open this morning.

“Huh,” Troy says.

And then everything goes dark.

-

Troy slowly comes to consciousness, scattered thoughts going through his head. Did he reply to Chad’s text yesterday about flying out to Albuquerque for a few weeks in early May? He needs to check his work schedules, make sure his managers didn’t create any work conflicts– 

A slow throb in the back of his head distracts him. Sure, he got tripped by a dog a few days ago, and yesterday his coworker shoved an uncomfortably-sharp wooden crate of coffee beans into his ribs, but there’s something else, there’s something– 

He didn’t leave the window open.

Troy opens his eyes, and looks around. He’s in what seems to be the smallest room he’s ever been in. It’s smaller than the guy’s dressing room back at East High. And just as dimly lit. He pats himself down. His phone and wallet are gone. Also his shoes. Why would they take his shoes? And who are ‘they’? Kidnappers, apparently, but what reason would anybody have to kidnap him?

The door opens, and Troy can briefly hear people outside. A man steps into the room, and closes the door behind him.

Troy is on his feet, and quickly stepping back. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got the wrong person, if you just let me go, I won’t tell the cops about this, I promise.”

“We have the right person, Troy Bolton.”

“That’s not me,” he replies immediately.

The man doesn’t look convinced.

Troy’s singing is better than his acting. Maybe he should have tried to sing it. 

The man is not familiar. Is this an intervention? Troy really thought Chad was joking about that. Though, according to Facebook, Sharpay and Zeke broke up three weeks ago. She’s had convoluted plans before. Granted, this seems over-the-top, but Sharpay doesn’t exactly do subtle.

“Uh, listen, I have work,” Troy says. Though he’s really not sure if today’s still today or if it’s tomorrow. And if it’s tomorrow, he actually doesn’t have work, the planets aligned into him having today off, but he doesn’t think they would have a way of knowing that. He just wants to head back to his apartment and do nothing on his day off. Not be kidnapped. “And I’d really like to not be fired. If you want money from me, then neither do you.”

The guy advances on him.

“So–” 

He’s gagged, and a bag is pulled over his head.

-

“Hold this,” a man says, shoving what feels like a newspaper into Troy’s hands.

The guy sounds like he’s doing a bad impersonation of Sean Connery. Which all but rules out the involvement of Sharpay. She has pretty high standards, and Troy is pretty sure that any nameless mook would have to go through a rigorous audition process. And impression coaching with Ryan if Sharpay deemed it necessary.

“Agent Montez. We know that you have smuggled out information on Project Euterpe. You tried to keep it from us, and we commend you for this. Our offer still stands – join us, and lead our biochem program. Whatever meager salary SHIELD offers you, we can triple it. Think of what you could do with us.”

There’s a dramatic pause.

“If the money is not enough incentive, we have your high school sweetheart. And will continue to, for the next twenty-four hours. You have that time to comply, and hand over all the information on Project Euterpe. Continue to resist us, and we kill Troy.”

At that Troy drops the newspaper, and starts looking around as best as he can with a burlap sack over his head. He has no idea how they know his name, why they’re calling Gabi _Agent_ , or what is exactly is going on, but things seem to keep getting worse.

“And you wouldn’t want that, now would you? After all, he is the music in you.”

The panic subsides, and instead anger courses through Troy. Because after everything – after the break-up, this _last break-up_ , and the heartbreak he felt and still feels – what he and Gabi had together was great, the music they shared was great, and it doesn’t deserve mocking. He starts saying such, as much as he can around a gag, but pain explodes across his temple, and things go dark.

-

There’s a loud bang, and Troy jolts awake.

The loud noises jar, and Troy is immediately awake, and looking around. The door to the room is still closed, there's no one in here but him, but there's one thing that's unmistakable – there are more people in the apartment than just his captors.

Troy looks around to see if there's something in here he can defend himself with, but it's just as barren as it was last time. Afraid of being caught in the crossfire, he backs himself into one of the corners. A few moments pass, his heart beating wildly in his chest, and he realizes that he's in direct line of sight of the door. He pushes himself off the wall, ready to bolt to the opposite corner, where he would be blocked by the door, when the door flies open.

"Freeze!"

There's a person standing in the doorway, nearly completely obscured by backlighting – except for the fact they are holding a gun.

Troy skids to a stop, and throws his arms up. "Don’t shoot," he says. After a moment, he adds, "Please."

The figure doesn’t lower their gun. "Troy Bolton?" 

He thinks of singing _I’m not Troy_ , but he’s too busy trying to figure out whether or not he’s going to get shot to decide on a melody. The figure hasn’t moved, and hasn’t shot him yet. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the light, he notices the person is female. And also shorter than she looked at first glance. And she still hasn’t shot him. He nods. "I'm Troy." Although he’s starting to get paranoid about how everyone knows his name.

She puts her gun down. "I'm Agent May with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We've come to get you out of here." After a moment, she adds, "You can put your hands down."

Troy slowly puts his hands down. "What's going on?" he asks.

"We're here to get you out of this situation peacefully and without harm."

In the background, there's a scream.

Troy feels worried.

"Without harm to you," the agent amends.

Troy does not feel reassured. "Okay," he says, slowly.

"Please, follow me." She turns on her heel and strides out of the room.

Troy looks around the room one last time, because it's a force of habit, not that he actually expects to leave anything behind, and follows her out.

There's bodies on the ground. Troy feels very worried.

"This was a no-kill operation," the agent – Agent May – says. 

“That’s… that’s good.”

She leads him through the apartment.

“Uh, am I going to be getting my shoes back?” Troy asks.

Agent May looks over her shoulder at him. “Your belongings are being tagged and processed.”

“Even my shoes? I’d kind of like those back. It’s weird being in my socks around… who are you again?”

“SHIELD.”

“I’ve never heard of that one.”

“That’s what we aim for. But trust us, we’re the good guys.”

An agent hands Troy over his beat up old Adidas. If they’ve giving him back his shoes, they’re probably the good guys.

"Did Agent Montez send you anything?"

“Agent Montez,” he repeats. “Man. She said she had a lucrative offer once she finished her PhD at Stanford, and I joked with Chad that she was going to join the CIA or FBI, but this is…”

“Did Agent Montez send you anything in the past few months?” May repeats.

Troy coughs. "Yeah. She sent me a few letters.”

“What were they about?”

"Just... talking. Apologizing. Sort of apologizing,” he amends. He swallows, and clarifies, “We broke up a few months back.”

"Was there anything unusual about the letters?"

The fact that she wasn't saying she wanted to get back together. The longest they’d stayed broken up was for a month. Troy really thought they would get back together. This probably isn't something to tell some secret agent, so he just says, "Uh, well, the writing was a bit strange at times? It didn't always sound like the way Gabi would phrase things. We just haven't seen each other in a while, so I thought she may have changed that as well."

"Where do you keep these letters?"

"My apartment."

"We need to go there. Now."

-

On the ride over, Troy tries to surreptitiously check out May. Not _check out_ -check out, but just. He likes to know who he's driving with. His parents made a big fuss about it when he was a kid, and so he always likes to know who he's with. Which made a few end of high school parties awkward, because Troy wasn't happy knowing his driver was a friend of a friend of a sister's friend, he needed to know names. He got grief for it, sometimes, but Chad was good at shutting them down.

Anyways, she's short, and her expression is neutral, eyes on the road. Calm. Serious. Asian. Chinese, Troy would guess, because after mistaking a Japanese student for being Korean in his freshman year of college, Troy had done his best to try and get better at placing ethnicity.

Anyways, she's Chinese, and driving, and her last name is May.

"What's your first name?" Troy asks, before he can stop himself.

She turns to look at him, so slightly, and raises an eyebrow, so slightly. "Melinda," she says, finally.

Troy nods. "Cool." Which is a stupid reply. "I'm, uh, Troy. Troy Bolton. I know you already knew that, but I like to introduce myself. It feels impolite not to."

She nods.

"Uh, do you prefer Melinda or May? Or Agent May?"

"May is fine."

Troy nods again. He really doesn’t know the social etiquette for situations like this. Or what this situation really is.

And to make matters worse, now Troy has to show May his apartment. Troy takes a bracing breath, and opens up his apartment. Troy grew up as an only child, but there were years when Chad was basically like his brother and spent all his time at the Bolton's – because Mama Danforth was awesome and didn't mind, while Troy's mom always felt she was doing something wrong if Troy spent more than two nights over at the Danforth’s – and then he spent four years of college at the dorms, and he decided he wanted to be on his own.

The place is pretty bad. There's no trash, he can at least keep that at bay, but recycling is another matter. There’s a lot of Diet Coke cans and piles of junk mail he hasn't gotten around to recycling yet. 

"Where's your room?" May asks.

“Uh…”

His room is a mess. The drawers on his IKEA chest of drawers don’t pull out that well, and so most of his clothes are organized in piles on his floor. He has a lot of sweatshirts, and a lot of flannel, and he doesn’t do laundry as often as he should.

He turns to see if May is judging him.

Sort of, but not really. "I need everything Agent Montez has sent you."

Troy pulls out the Gabi shoe box from under his bed. He extends it to May. And then a thought hits him, and he pulls it back and holds it protectively to his chest.

May raises an eyebrow.

"Do you need to see absolutely everything in here?"

"Why?" May asks, starting to sound suspicious.

"There were some things that Gabi sent me a while back that were very personal in nature and, uh, I don't feel comfortable in infringing on her privacy by letting you see them."

"Did she send you nudes?"

Troy flushes and nods.

"I don't need to see those. Or anything before the last six months, really."

Troy hands the box over. "Everything since we broke up last year is above the black piece of construction paper." After a beat, he hurriedly adds, "It was the only thing I had available, there isn't any symbolic meaning–” 

But May is already skimming through the letters, and holding them up to the light. She nods."Do you have a plastic bag I could take these in?"

"What size?" Troy asks, automatically.

"Gallon-sized. I need to keep these clean and free of any additional fibers."

There’s a lot of letters. He brings the box of ziploc bags. And the bag of plastic gloves he uses for chopping jalapenos. (Chad sent them to him after the Nacho Incident. Because Chad is his best bro, but also kind of a dick.)

May nods approvingly as he holds out the gloves, and starts bagging the letters.

"So what exactly is going on?" Troy asks.

"Your ex-girlfriend, Agent Montez, is lead in one of SHIELD's newer research projects. One of the agents got bought off by an unsavory company, and started leaking intel. Agent Montez knew something was going on, and she started sending you secret messages, hoping you wouldn’t be suspected. She started altering data, so the project wouldn’t be completely compromised by the leak, and these letters likely contain the original data needed to rebuild the project. Whenever we can find a new facility to transfer them to, given the original was firebombed.”

" _Firebombed_?" Troy repeats. "Is Gabi okay? What about the other scientists?"

"No casualties. A few burns, but nothing severe, and our healing regimens will help them heal quickly.”

She hands a stack of all the boxes back over – the Gabi box, the ziplocs, the gloves; all balanced very well – with her own bags tucked under her arm. “Alright, now all that’s left is for me to take you to SHIELD’s protective custody–”

“Wait, what?”

“You were already kidnapped once. That was a cell of the organization, and while we’re containing the damage, they will try and come after you again. For your safety, you’ll be staying at one of the SHIELD safehouses.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve been assigned to head up to Eugene. Take them back to Argent Montez, and assist in resolving a few sensitive matters.”

“Why can’t I go with you?”

May stares at him.

“I mean–” Troy starts, but he can’t think of a way to backpedal. He meant what he said. “Where’s Eugene?”

“Oregon.”

“Oregon?”

“Central Oregon.”

“How long of a drive is it?”

“It should only be ten hours, and I need to get there by seven tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow is my day off. …I think. What day is it?”

“Tuesday. You were only held for a few hours.”

It seemed longer than that. But that means, “Yeah, tomorrow is my day off.”

May stares at him. This is definitely her judging look.

“I want to– I was brought into this adventure, I should see it through.”

She continues staring.

He stares back. “Please?” he adds, belatedly.

She sighs. “I’m leaving in two minutes.”

-

Troy settles into the passenger seat of the same navy Camry from earlier. He waits until they’re on the highway before he starts, “"I don't know if I'm allowed to ask this..."

May doesn't reply.

"Whose car is this?" 

"It's lent to SHIELD through a third-party program."

"What does that mean? Do you just... go up to random people, and say hey, we may need to use your car?"

May doesn't reply.

"Is that... is that what SHIELD really does?"

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"But that's kind of what it's like. Man, how do you sign up for that program? Do you know how cool it'd be to have a secret agent use your car?"

May shoots him a side glance.

"Well, you probably know, being the secret agent, but for the rest of us... man, I thought my life was exciting when I was being considered for Juilliard."

She looks at him longer.

"I was, uh, considered for Juilliard," Troy repeats. To him, the circumstances for it, it was all so off-hand, it doesn't entirely feel real to him. But then he mentions it to others, and they just gawk at him. It’s kind of flattering. But then he has to explain the singing thing, and then he's gotten a strange array of questions.

"Congratulations," she replies. "Musical theatre, right?"

“Yeah, how’d you guess?”

“It wasn’t a guess. We had to run your file, to verify that you weren’t secretly involved with the hostage situation. Kidnappers sometimes buy off the hostage, so to help control the outcome.”

Troy processes it for a few moments. Then asks, “I have a file?”

May doesn’t answer.

They ride in silence for a few moments.

“But, yeah, musical theatre. I was never much of an actor, according to some of the other students in the department, but I was a really good singer. Still am, though I don't do it much."

He always disclaims this, and he always gets the question, the big dreaded question-- why don't you keep singing?

May doesn't ask it.

Troy feels a pang that she doesn't ask – everyone asks it, and as much as he hates it, it does give him a chance to validate that he’s a better actor than everyone thinks – but more than that, there’s a relief he's never felt before.

He clears his throat. "What about you? Where you ever much of a singer?"

"A few stints in community plays. Better actor than a singer."

Troy nods. "If you want, if you ever get cast for a role where you need to sing, I can stand in the wings and sing for you. It would be like Singing in the Rain.”

She snorts, but there’s a smile on her face.

He wants to start singing it now. He's been in so many strange and stressful positions, and singing always helped him get his head in the game, and he feels off balance right here right now.

"Do you mind if I put on the radio?"

She shakes her head.

He ends up on the xylophone break-up song. It’s played a lot at the coffee shop, and a few of his coworkers have grown to dislike it, but Troy still thinks it’s pretty catchy. He looks out the window, lip-syncing along to the song.

Which turns into quietly singing it to himself.

May doesn’t react.

The song ends, another begins. That one British singer that Troy likes a lot more than he’s willing to admit to his coworkers. After the first verse, and continued indifference by May, he sings a bit louder, and a bit louder on the verse after that.

The radio switches to talking about its annual fundraising, and May reaches over and turns down the volume.

“You don’t mind me singing, right?”

May shakes her head. A long second passes, and she clears her throat. "I used to figure skate," she says.

Troy raises his eyebrows, and beams at her. "Really? That’s so cool. I tried going to an ice rink once. I didn’t go so well.” Well, it didn’t go well for Chad. Which, at the age of eight, meant that it didn’t go well for Troy either. “It required too much coordination and balance. And falling on the ice was always really painful.”

She nods. “It was,” she murmurs.

The fundraiser advertising ends, and May turns the volume up louder than it had been.

Troy takes the implicit permission, and keeps singing along to pop song after pop song.

By the time the xylophone break-up song comes back on, May takes the female accompaniment solo. Troy jumps back in for the chorus, grinning to himself as he and May harmonize through the rest of the song.

-

“I’m thirsty,” Troy says, once the radio has looped back to advertisements.

“There should be a few water bottles behind your seat.” 

Troy twists and turns in his seat, stretching to see the case of water bottles. He grabs two. Offers one to May, but she shakes her head. “It’s pretty convenient that they had these,” he says, unscrewing the lid.

“It’s a requirement, actually.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“SHIELD pays a monthly stipend to to everyone enrolled in the potential-car-borrowing program. But to be compensated, the car needs to be equipped with some of the items that an agent might need. Water bottles, power bars, a burner cell, blankets in the trunk, among other things.”

Troy’s stomach growls. “Where are the power bars?”

“Glove compartment.”

It’s a generic equivalent of a brand name, and tastes even worse than the brand name does. “So what does this stipend look like?”

“It’s a considerable amount of money.”

“What kind of car does it have to be?”

“As long as it runs, it doesn’t matter.”

“Even if it’s an old beater that has had the engine rebuilt by hand three times?”

“Does it run?”

Troy nods. “I can’t see a secret agent driving my car though. Though I suppose that’s kind of the point?”

“In some cases, yes.”

“What do you do to sign up for it?”

“I can send you the paperwork.”

“There’s paperwork?”

“There’s a lot of paperwork. Consent forms, insurance forms, tax forms… And there’s even more paperwork if the car is used in a chase, or is damaged in any way.”

“Huh. Never would have thought about it. Who works in the paperwork department?”

“Mostly agents under disciplinary actions. The few agents who chose to work it.”

Troy laughs. “Who would ever chose to do paperwork over being an agent in the field?”

“I did.”

He stares at her. “Oh,” he says. He’s been told that he’s not good at reading people, but he can tell this is something he should not question her about. He clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says, sheepishly.

May just turns the radio back up.

-

“Uh, May? Are there any more power bars?”

She shakes her head, then she flicks on her turn signal, changing lanes to get ready for an upcoming exit.

-

In the small hours of the morning, the only options are fast food.

“Have a preference?” May asks.

Troy shakes his head. He stopped having a preference around age twelve. “I just want something with bacon,” he says. “Bacon makes everything better.” Bacon and singing. They’re his comfort go-tos.

Because his pulse has jumped up and he feels this creeping dread, and his throat feels too raw to sing, which leaves bacon.

May orders for him and he doesn’t really pay it any mind, instead just gazing out the front of the window, willing his heartbeat to slow down. It doesn’t listen, but that doesn’t matter, he can ignore it when May hands over his food. She says something about getting the most bacon she could on it. The car starts back onto the street, and Troy turns his attention to eating his extra-bacon cheeseburger. 

There’s fries in the bag, but his stomach protests the thought of eating anything else. He feels like he can’t breath, and he moves very carefully to set the bag behind him, trying not to jostle his stomach, not to make his lungs feel smaller than they are.

He stares out the window, focusing on the white lines to his side.

Focusing on the white lines, not the fact he feels sick. The too-greasy burger in his stomach tumbles around, adrenaline from earlier today kicking back in, speeding the tumble of the thoughts of he has no idea what he’s doing here and he has no idea what he’s doing after.

Taylor had a panic attack once. Or maybe she’s had more and Troy was only around one of them. It was before an academic octathlon, something she did as an individual instead of on a team, and she was panicking. Troy had been around a few team members who had pretty bad pre-game jitters, and he could do a pretty good job at talking them down. He just told her to breath.

After, she told him that it was the best thing he could have done.

And so he tells himself to breath. Deep breaths. 

Deep breaths.

"You okay?" May asks.

"No, I'm not doing too well," Troy says. As he says the words, he becomes aware of how foul his mouth feels. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"You need me to pull over?"

Troy nods his head.

She turns off onto the shoulder, not abruptly, but not gently enough to keep his stomach from jostling. The car is barely parked when Troy is unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door, turning on the seat and throwing up on the side of the road. He just groans, but before he can say anything, there's another wave of nausea, and his throat is on fire as he throws up his dinner. 

"Trauma has a different impact on everyone," May says behind him. "Take your time."

He takes a few deep breathes, then a few shallow ones, and he throws up again. It takes him another few minutes to keep getting everything out of his stomach, and then he spends another few minutes just sitting there, silently, feeling pity for himself.

It’s cold, and he shivers, and feels more pity for himself. His limbs feel stiff as he turns back to sitting forward, puts the seat belt back on.

“Do you want the radio back on?”

He hadn’t noticed her turn it off. He shakes his head.

She starts the car back up, gets back onto the highway.

Troy leans against the window. Adrenaline is rushing through his system, and he feels like he needs to do something to get rid of it. But his stomach is in knots and his mouth still tastes foul, and he can’t imagine moving for fear of making it hurt worse.

The car pulls to a stop.

“Stay in the car,” May tells him.

He nods. Can’t imagine leaving the car. He’s exhausted. Really exhausted.

She comes back, and Troy hears the rustle of paper. Barf bags? He almost wants to ask, but can’t bring himself to. Then she’s driving again, and soon they’re on the highway.

And then she’s pulling onto the shoulder.

Troy frowns. Sure, he’s probably going to throw up again, but he doesn’t feel like he needs to at this immediate moment.

“Get out of the car,” May says.

Troy turns and frowns at her. Nods. Sluggishly pulls himself out of the car.

May is waiting around the back of the car. A paper bag is on the trunk, and out of it, she’s pulling– 

“Where did you get booze?”

“The liquor store.”

“Liquor stores can’t sell alcohol this time of night.”

May doesn’t reply.

“You stole booze?”

“I left a monetary compensation,” she says.

“How did you even get in?”

“I didn’t always work in the paperwork office. And I didn’t know what your poison was, so I just got a variety.”

“As long as it’s not vodka. I went to a few too many college parties with Burnetts.”

May grimaces.

“I know.”

She climbs up to sit on the trunk. “Get up here.”

Troy has never been one to seek out alcohol – yet another thing his parents drilled into him – but if it’s put before him, he’s not always inclined to turn it down. He pushes himself to sit up on the hood. He grabs the bottle of tequila, takes off the top, and takes a drink. And shudders. The first drink is always the worst.

Beside him, May opens a can of Coke, then a small shooter of Bacardi.

“Is that a good idea?”

“Drunk driving is never a good idea. However, half a shooter of rum will barely get me tipsy, I’ll be good to drive.”

Troy nods. “I’ve never drunk and drove before. Well, there was this one time, back in college, I thought I was okay, got into my car, started driving, but then pulled over a block later. That's not too bad, is it?"

May shakes her head. "No, that was a good call to make."

He sighs out in relief. He’s always been afraid to ask an authority figure, in fear that it was that bad and he would be arrested for it. He takes another drink.

May takes a slow sip of her drink. "Nowadays, standard protocol is that only agents who are getting advanced training in vehicles are to practice driving intoxicated so they can learn how to counteract the effects of it."

“Really?”

“Really.”

"But...?" Troy prompts.

"But, back in my day, it was... an Academy tradition, for all the specialists to get drunk, steal the best car they could find, go to an abandoned parking lot, get more drunk, and do donuts."

Troy laughs. "Really? That seems really dangerous."

"Oh, it was. And stupid. More than a few agents got caught."

"Did you?"

"Nope. Not once.”

“You did it more than once?”

“Three times. Four, if you count that time I swapped the vodka for water and just pretended to be drunk.”

“Why?”

“Why the number of times, or why pretend for the fourth?”

“Yes.” Troy blinks. “Both,” he amends.

“Different drinks required different kinds of cars. And the fourth was for fun. See what kind of reaction I could get.”

Troy laughs and shakes his head. “How did they react when they found out?”

“Who said they found out?”

Troy laughs again. It comes easily, bubbling out of him. He feels light and carefree, the claustrophobic worry of earlier now a distant memory.

May notices. “You feeling better?”

Troy nods. Takes another drink.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. May sips at her drink, but Troy screws the top back on the tequila bottle. Then pushes himself up onto the roof of the car.

May looks at him dubiously, but climbs up to join him.

"I just…” Troy starts.

May waits.

“I used to be the guy. That Guy. I knew what I was doing with my life, I knew what was going on, I was on top of everything, I was making decisions, I was active, I was... I was there. And even as things changed, as I realized how much I liked singing, as I made room for that, I was still in control of it, on top of what I was doing. But then college came around. I was too short to come off alternates, and I eventually stopped trying out. And then Gabi left me. Like, we’ve broken up a few times, but we’ve always gotten back together, but this time I don’t think we’re going to, I don’t think she wants to. And then Chad, my best friend from like, kindergarten, he comes out as gay, which I don’t _mind_ , I’m totally cool with him being gay, even if the fact that Sharpay may become his sister-in-law is weird, but the fact that he didn’t tell me until he was in a six-month relationship…

“I thought I knew who I was. And I’ve gone through this before, I’ve had breakdowns wondering who I am, and each time, I thought I figured out who I was, who I wanted, but this time… this time I can’t figure it out. Who am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? How have I been so wrong every time I thought I figured things out?”

“You weren’t wrong,” May says. “You figured out who you were at the time, but people change. We change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Sometimes we recognize ourselves, sometimes we don’t.”

“What do you do when you don’t?”

“You get through it. Find your way back.”

“I don’t have anything to go back to.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Troy says. “I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“You’re not supposed to know what you want to do for the rest of your life, you’re only a quarter of the way through it.”

“Everyone else does. Chad’s an up-and-coming graphic designer in New York, living with Ryan, who is starting an off-Broadway show in a few months. Gabi’s this badass scientist who works for a super secret spy agency. Sharpay talked about how she just got the best role of her life. Zeke’s a sous chef and loving every minute of his work, and Kelsi is composing in DC, and–”

“How do you know about all this?”

“FaceBook.”

“Get off FaceBook. Stop investing in others’ lives.”

“But they’re my friends, I want to see how their lives are going–”

“You can do that later. For now, Invest in your own life. What do you want to do?”

“Sing.”

“Then sing.”

“Right now?”

“Do you want to?”

Yes. No. Troy doesn’t know. He thinks of sophomore year drunk karaoke tournaments. He thinks of the first time he did karaoke. “This could be the start,” he murmurs, half-saying and half-singing it, the lightness of the song struggling against the leaden dread in his gut. He leans down, his arms on his legs. Tequila makes the world spin. He rubs his hand against his eyes. “Of something new,” he continues. But it doesn’t feel right to be here without Gabi.

But maybe that’s the start.

He leans over, and rests his head on May’s shoulder. 

She wraps her arm around his back, pats him on his shoulder.

He sighs. “I’m drunk,” he says into her jacket.

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m really drunk.”

“I noticed.”

He sighs again.

They sit together in silence.

“Think you can get off the car without falling on your face?”

“If I can’t, don’t tell Chad.” But, moving slowly, Troy manages to lower himself from the car without falling over. While May stashes the booze in the trunk, Troy pours himself into the passenger seat. When she gets back into her seat and starts the car, Troy murmurs, “Thank you.”

She turns and gives him a small smile and a nod.

-

Troy drifts to sleep – the kind of dozing half sleep where he can hear the sound of the radio on low volume and hear the sound of the tires rolling against the road and hear cars as they pass or are passed and feel the rising sun on the side of his face and he knows exactly where he is– 

–but as much as he's here, he's with Gabi, being driven back to his sophomore dorm room and laughing with her; he's with Chad, after a long night drive up to the Rockies to camp and smoke and talk and not-talk; he's here, he's there, he's in dreams and he's in memories.

It's peaceful.

The music switches from music to the radio, and Troy slowly stirs, his neck sore from the angle he's been resting. "How much–" he lets out a long yawn, and it takes him a moment before he finishes "– longer until we get there?"

"Half an hour or so, depending on traffic."

Troy looks at the clock on the dashboard. It's earlier than it should be. "How much of the trip were you speeding?"

She gives him a conspiratorial smile.

He lets out a laugh. “Do you ever get pulled over?”

“Agents get pulled over every now and then. But the police know to look the other way when they see a SHIELD badge.”

Troy was nearly bankrupted his freshman year by speeding tickets. "That sounds _amazing_."

May shoots him a smirk. "You have no idea."

He just lets out a small laugh, and rolls his neck a few time, working out the cricks. "So," he asks, finally, "what happens after the next half hour? I don’t think either of my bosses would appreciate it if I called out tomorrow, citing being stranded in Oregon.”

"You want to drive back, we'll rent you a car. You want to fly back, we'll get you a ticket. After the information is secure, we can go after the hostiles who were trying to get it. You're free to head back to California at your leisure. We can provided documentation to your employers that verifies you were unable to work, and keeps your job security."

"Any way you'd be interested in driving back with me?" Troy asks. He looks her in the eye. His palms are sweaty, because this isn't exactly– but it kind of is. It's something. Maybe a start.

May looks at him out of the corner of her eye. Before she can say anything, though, her phone starts to ring, and she answers it through the car. "This is May."

"May," comes a male voice on the other end. "What's your status?"

"Plain," she replies. "We'll be at the temp HQ in about ten minutes, and I’ll get the information back to Agent Montez and her team."

"No set-backs during the trip?"

"None."

Except for Troy getting sick, but he doesn't think that's what the guy is asking about.

"Is Bolton with you?”

“Shotgun.”

“Hi,” Troy says.

The agent doesn’t reply to him. “Update me after your meet with Montez.” He hangs up.

Awkward silence passes for the next few miles.

"Would you mind if we got breakfast?" Troy asks. "I mean, it doesn't have to be a full sit-down breakfast, but I'm kind of hungry. Throwing up everything I had eaten didn't really help."

“Mind if we stop by a coffee shop instead of a sit-down diner?”

Troy shakes his head. “Do you want me to pay?” he asks, as May pulls into a shopping plaza parking lot. “And I can pay you back for last night’s food–” 

“SHIELD can cover it. Any requests?"

"A macchiato? And maybe a muffin?"

She goes in alone, and Troy squirms in his seat. Although May didn’t say anything about it explicitly, everything she’s said about SHIELD makes Troy think they’re probably tapped into his phone. It’s still hard resisting the urge to ask Chad about what does and does not count as a coffee date, and how to change from one to the other.

"There weren't any muffins, only scones," May says, handing over the bag.

Troy looks inside. It looks like there's one of every kind. "I could eat about half of these," he says. "Is there any flavor you want me to save for you?"

"The cranberry orange one," she replies.

Troy grabs one of the napkins, and grabs the scone, setting into the drink compartment.

"You don't drink coffee?" Troy asks.

"No," she says. "I hate coffee."

"Oh. Sorry for making you go to a coffee shop then."

She shakes her head. "Don't worry about it."

"You know, they have drinks other than coffee."

"Their tea is usually awful. And the only other options are overpriced imported drinks."

"Sorry," Troy says. He looks out the window. She’s at least ten years older than him. He 

*

They turn into a business plaza.

It occurs to Troy that he’s going to be seeing Gabi again. He’s not exactly sure how to process it, and he doesn’t really have time to, because May is parking curbside and gesturing for him to come with her.

There’s a lot of scientists about, but at a glance he can tell none of them are her. “So when are–”

Troy and May turn a corner, and then he sees Gabi. She’s standing tall, ordering and directing scientists about. She’s also flanked by two guys, both tall, dark-haired, and in black suits.

And then she’s also turning, and she goes quiet when she sees him.

“Oh my god your hair is short,” Troy blurts out. Which is a stupid thing to say, but it is. Her bangs are long and swept to the side, covering most of her forehead, but the rest of her hair is only about an inch long.

She laughs, and reaches up a hand to run through her hair. “Yeah, I chopped it all off a few months ago.” After a beat, she says, “Seems you did too.”

Troy huffs a laugh, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I already miss my bangs, though.”

Gabi stares at him for a long moment, and then throws herself at Troy.

He catches her easily, naturally. Pulls her in for a fierce hug. “May told me what happened to your facility, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” she says, pulling back.

“I’m still not entirely sure what this is,” he admits.

“Uh,” she says. She glances back at the two bodyguards, both of whom are eyeing Troy suspiciously. “I’m not exactly sure I can tell you.”

“I’m not sure I would understand even if you did. The only reason I got through chemistry was because of you.”

“Yeah, this is all _slightly_ more advanced than that,” she says, smiling.

Troy laughs. “Speaking of,” he says, turning towards May.

“Agent Montez,” May says, stepping forward. “I believe those are yours.”

“Oh my god,” Gabi says, grabbing the bags from her. “I can’t believe it! I was so afraid you were going to throw them away, or that when you were kidnapped they were going to find these. These have so much of my work, this is going to speed up the program by months, thank you so much…”

“Agent May,” Troy introduces.

Gabi’s eyes go wide. She straightens up. “Agent May,” she says, voice more even.

“She gave me a ride here. And maybe a ride back. I don’t know. We’re still working out the details.”

Gabi hugs her letters to her chest. “Well, thank you so much for bringing them, Agent May. I should get these back to our analysts to correct the data I had to alter, there’s so much work we need to redo. Troy…”

He was hoping he could see her for a little bit longer. But he makes himself smile at her. “It was good to see you, Gabi.”

She gives him a soft smile. “It was good to see you too, Troy.” She steps in for another brief hug, and then she’s turning on her feet, stepping between her guards, and calling a number of scientists over to her.

Once she’s turned a corner, Troy turns to May. She’s already watching him. “I think I need bacon. Too late to take you up on that diner offer? I think I saw a waffle house nearby. Do you like waffles?” He’s rambling, and he feels like an idiot, but there’s nothing he wants to take back.

“I need to check in with Agent Blake,” she says.

“Oh. Okay. I can…”

“Checking in shouldn’t take too long.”

Troy stares at her. Breaks into a smile. “I’ll wait by the car?”

She nods, and starts towards one of the buildings.

Troy bounds back over to the Camry. Something in him feels more settled than he’s felt in a while, and his heart feels light. SHIELD may or may not be tapping his phone, but he sends Chad a quick, ‘ _I have never been this excited about waffles in my life._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> I really did enjoy writing this, and I hope it brought you some joy too.


End file.
